


you can't raise hell with a saint

by buckthebarnes



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate universe - Marvel, Bellarke Big Bang, Bellarke Big Bang 2019, Crime Fighting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Humor, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lots of alcohol, Marvel Universe, Slow Burn, also murphy being daredevil is something ive always wanted and HERE HE IS, basically it's a Jessica Jones!AU, basically this fic is clarke/murphy/bellamy kicking ass, bellamy is a nypd detective, clarke basically has some of the same qualities as jj but thats literally it, clarke is jj and murphy is daredevil lol, how she got her powers is different and so are her relationships, like a lot, our little devil boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 11:15:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckthebarnes/pseuds/buckthebarnes
Summary: He’s about to respond when Murphy makes his way into Clarke’s living room with another Capri Sun in hand and grabs a folder.“Dammit, Murphy,” Clarke scolds. “What did I tell you about taking my shit?”“You said nothing about drinks,” he points out and he slurps loudly from the drink.“Who’s this guy?” Bellamy asks, jabbing his thumb at Murphy.“I’m-”“Not important.” Clarke finishes. “Everyone needs to grab a folder and start looking for patterns. The sooner we start looking the sooner we can find them.”Or: Clarke runs her own private investigator company and takes it upon herself to save kids who have been mysteriously disappearing with the help of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and an NYPD Detective.AKA: a Jessica Jones AU that no one asked for but got anyway.





	you can't raise hell with a saint

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone!!!! this fic has been in my head for a while now and of course i decided to write it when i was in the middle of graduating college/trying to find a job !!!! she isn't finished just yet but i really wanted to get the first two parts out so i at least had something.
> 
> a couple thank you's:
> 
> TO MAY WHO HAS ALWAYS HELPED ME WITH THE WRITING PROCESS AND HELPED ME GENERATE FUN AND NEW PLOT POINTS i literally would not have this fic if it wasn't for her and just as i helped birth her fic she helped me birth mine - i love u !!!! so much thank u for everything.
> 
> & of course the creator of the Bellarke Big Bang 2019!! Without this prompt i probs would never have written this fic and you've been so kind and understanding when life got in the way so i am v appreciative of u!!!! thanks a million!!!!
> 
> for anyone checking out this fic i just wanna say thank u and i can't wait to see y'all's responses :')

Fall is one of Clarke’s favorite seasons, especially in New York City. The air is crisp, the leaves are pretty, and crime rates tend to spike around this time. She just got done working her first case of the season - some woman thought her husband was cheating on her, she hired Clarke to spy on him, Clarke got evidence of him cheating, she delivers it to the client and collects her pay. Being a private investigator wasn’t what Clarke had always wanted to be, but it pays the bills.

As she walks into the building she heads towards the elevators and pushes the button.

Nothing.

She presses again. Nothing.

“Are you shitting me?” she grumbles under her breath as she starts to rapidly jab the button.

“It’s broken.”

Clarke turns her head and sees a mailman putting envelopes into people’s mailboxes.

“Well tough shit,” she huffs, continuing her rampage on the button. “I’m not walking up seven flights of stairs.”

She ends up walking the flight of stairs.

Even with all the powers in the world, she still feels defeated by the time she reaches her floor. As she walks to her door she starts mapping out the rest of her night.

_Disconnect the phone because there’s no way in hell I’m taking on any more clients, take a bath, open up a new bottle of Jack-_

“Hey, Clarke.”

She looks up and sees the one and only Murphy lounging on her couch, watching her TV, and drinking a Capri Sun. _Her_ Capri Sun.

She eyes him suspiciously. “Why are you here?”

He shrugs. “Hiding out.”

Clarke takes in his appearance - a bruise starting to bloom on his cheek, some dried blood near his lip, and he’s still in his suit.

“Can’t Daredevil afford his own Capri Suns?”

“You don’t even like Capri Suns,” he scoffs as he turns his attention back to the TV. A reporter is talking about a back-alley brawl and how both victims were saved by the ‘Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’.

“Someone was a good vigilante tonight,” she notes as she finally drops her bag on the floor and makes her way over to the kitchen. She cracks open a bottle of whiskey, pours herself a drink, and joins Murphy on the couch.

“Fuck off,” he mumbles. His eyes are glued to the TV as he watches the reporter go over what happened in the alley.

Murphy has never said it out loud, but Clarke knows he soaks up all the praise Daredevil gets.

“Y’know,” she starts as she adjusts herself on the couch and takes a sip of her drink. “That could be your name up there instead of them referring to you as Daredevil.”

He sighs. “I don’t want people to know who I am,”

“You mean Emori?”

“No,” he says sharply. He clears his throat and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I mean, I don’t want her to know who I am either, but people in general. I couldn’t do what you do.”

Clarke just nods and zones out on the TV. She doesn’t blame Murphy, if she had the opportunity to go back and prevent people from knowing who she is and what she does, she would in a heartbeat.

It’s silent for a couple of minutes, both of them just watching the news and seeing what other crimes are happening in Hell’s Kitchen.

Murphy is the one to break the silence. “Kane hasn’t heard from you in a while.”

Clarke groans and downs the rest of her drink. “Listen, I don’t need Marcus and I don’t need Jaha. I can control my powers just fine,”

She gets up to pour herself another drink because she does not want to be having this conversation with Murphy. They haven’t talked about training for a long time and she was hoping that they all forgot about it.

“Listen, you need to keep up with training-”

“I don’t need to do shit, thanks.”

She downs the second whiskey and begins to pour a third. Want to know one of the downsides of having powers? It takes so much more alcohol to get drunk.

Murphy mutes the TV and strides over to Clarke. “I’m not trying to ride your ass, but when you don’t show up to training, I’m the one who has to listen to Jaha and Kane bitch and moan about it. So,” he pauses and snatches Clarke’s drink, downing it, “for my sake, go to your fucking training.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t act like me going to these sessions benefits you in any way. Is this the only reason why you’re here?”

Clarke can feel herself starting to get angry like it’s coming from within her. She knows damn well that if she doesn’t calm the hell down then she’ll lose control.

She turns her back to Murphy and closes her eyes. _Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep- _

“Shit.”

She opens her eyes to find Murphy un-muting the TV.

_ “Seven teenagers have gone missing from P.S. 217.” _

Clarke feels an icy chill run down her spine, her anger forgotten. She looks to Murphy and it looks like he’s feeling the same.

She turns to where she left her bottle of whiskey and pours two glasses and hands one to Murphy. “You think it’s a coincidence?”

He takes the glass. “Doubt it.”

Kids, more specifically teenagers, have been steadily going missing from schools across the city. She’s been tracking all the updates from the news about this thing, trying to find patterns and find out where these kids are and why they were taken in the first place. She knows Murphy has been keeping tabs too.

“We should do something about this,”

Murphy drops his head into his hands. “That’s a job for the NYPD, Clarke. We can’t track down dozens of kids on our own.”

“Bullshit,” she retorts. “For two normal people, yeah it would be too much. You and I have powers and have been trained to do this sort of thing. We can help save those kids!”

“Dammit, Clarke, we can’t!”

She can feel it again, that intense anger that’s about to consume her. This time, she does take a deep breath and swallows her rage. “What if someone saved us? Or tried to? Don’t you wish that someone did?”

Silence.

Clarke continues to stare at him, he’s still burning a hole into the floor and is barely moving. It’s been a good three minutes of silence until Clarke breaks it again. “I know I wish someone saved us,” she says softly. “Even if we just help one, it’s a start. I might know someone on the force that can help.”

Murphy perks up at that. “Who?”

She moves around the couch and sits next to Murphy, propping her feet on the coffee table. “Detective Bellamy Blake.”

He eyes her warily. “And you’re sure he’ll help us?”

Clarke pauses and thinks. She and Blake never got along, per se, but she knows he’s a good person and cop. “Maybe, if you let me handle it.”

Murphy nods. “If you get this detective to work with us, I’m in.”

Relief washes over Clarke and she deflates a little. It doesn’t last for long, the realization of what she has to do settles upon her. She has to have a civilized conversation with Bellamy Blake.

“Shit,” she mumbles under her breath as she gets up. “I’ll go talk to him now. Don’t trash my place and stop drinking my Capri Suns.”

Murphy settles into the couch and bats his eyes at Clarke. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She rolls her eyes and heads for the door. “Asshole.” With that, she grabs her jacket and heads to the one place she knows Blake would be on a Tuesday night.

* * *

Charlie’s is packed, even for a Tuesday night. Clarke stands outside, peering through the window. She notices some people are playing pool, some darts, and several patrons are drinking at the bar. She immediately spots Bellamy and his partner, Nathan Miller.

She drew in a long breath.

This conversation could go one of two ways - Bellamy can be willing to break a few rules and help rescue some kids or he can shut down Clarke immediately and go back to drinking. She really hopes it’s the first option.

She steps one foot in front of the other as she enters the dimly lit bar. Her nose scrunches as the stench of cigarettes and something, probably mold, invades all of her senses. She honestly has no idea why Bellamy and Miller go to Charlie’s of all the bars in Hell’s Kitchen, it’s a shit show.

She stops and surveys the bar, looking for a seat next to or near Bellamy. None are available, yet.

She walks up to some guy sat next to Bellamy and grabs him by the back of his jacket. “Excuse me,” she chirps as she jerks him out of the seat and plops herself down on it. He probably gave some retort to her uprooting him, but she isn’t paying attention to him. She’s on a mission.

“Griffin,” Bellamy mutters as he turns to her. “What have I done to warrant a visit from the Princess of Hell’s Kitchen?”

Clarke rolls her eyes at the nickname. This is not going to go well.

“Actually Blake, it’s important.”

“Sure,” he scoffs as he takes a sip of his beer. “It’s always important, isn’t it? Every time you come to me for help-”

“I’ve come to you for help _twice_-”

“It’s always important! Like my current cases aren’t important enough or some horse shit-”

“Take it easy, Blake,” Miller interjects as he claps a hand on Bellamy’s back.

Clarke takes a deep breath and signals the bartender over for a beer as she contemplates how to go about this. It probably is not the best time to ask for something with Bellamy being a spiteful drunk tonight, but she really needs Murphy to get on board with her plan and to do that she needs Bellamy.

“It’s about the missing kids,” she confesses as she sips her beer. Hopefully, this will warrant some cooperation. It kind of doesn’t work.

“Clarke, I can’t help you,” he says as he hangs his head. His voice sounds distant, he sounds tired.

She puts her hand on his shoulder. “You can. I don’t even need you to do anything crazy, just snag the files of all the kids so I can find a pattern or something that can lead me to them.”

Bellamy gives a mirthless laugh. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t-”

“Bullshit,” she sneers, her hand falling from his shoulder and balling into a fist. “You have resources that can help locate these kids-”

“You don’t think we’re trying?” he snaps, throwing his hands up in the air. “Every detective is working some part of the case, we aren’t just sitting on our asses waiting for them to show up!”

“Well you aren’t doing enough!”

Bellamy stares at her, an unreadable expression on his face. He scrubs his hand over his face. “Griffin, you’re just a private investigator. This case is a big deal, leave it to the professionals.”

Clarke is about to either punch or berate him, but she stops herself as she notices a handful of people are watching them. She also notices that Miller left his spot next to Bellamy and is talking to someone she doesn’t recognize.

_Calm, be calm, you won’t get his help if you kill him. _

“Bellamy,” she pleads, trying a different approach. “I just need you to get me access to some files, I’ll go in and get them, I just need an in at the precinct.”

He stays silent for a while and some part in Clarke’s chest blooms with hope. If she gets Bellamy on board, Murphy is on board, and with the help of the two of them, she’ll have a much higher chance of saving those kids. With Bellamy’s resources-

“I’m not helping you, Griffin.”

Her world stands still for a moment before she inhales sharply and clenches her fist around her beer bottle. _That stupid, stubborn, selfish asshole, how can he- _

She didn’t notice how worked up she was getting until her bottle shattered in her hand, the little pieces of glass splintering into her skin and making her bleed.

“Jesus, Clarke,” Bellamy mumbles as he reaches for her hand but she snatches it back.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” she hisses and gets up from her seat, storming out of Charlie’s before she throws him through a wall.

Sure, okay, listen, she didn’t think it would be as easy as asking Bellamy for help and him just giving it to her, but she did not expect that response. How could he be so nonchalant about helping missing kids?

Clarke is positively fuming by the time she reaches her apartment, confused and just so fucking angry. She really hopes Murphy left to his own apartment, she is definitely not in the mood to deal with him right now.

As she steps into her apartment, she breathes a sigh of relief. No sign of Murphy. _Thank god_.

She shrugs off her jacket and throws it somewhere, not giving two shits where it lands. She searches for her whiskey bottle to pour herself a nice big glass but stops herself. She can feel her throat tightening and tears forming. For once, she doesn’t want a drink.

_Breathe in one...two...three...one...two...three. _

She chants the mantra over and over in her head until she feels somewhat in control of her emotions. She just...does not understand why no one is willing to help her with this. The Devil of Hell’s god damn Kitchen is out, the cops are out, so who’s in?

She feels defeated. Alone.

“Fuck it,” she mutters to herself as she heads to her bed. Today just really needed to be over.

She kicks off her boots and settles into her bed. In the dark, she feels less vulnerable. She lets the tears that she held back come out and just cries until she falls asleep. Maybe tomorrow will be better, or the next day.

Three days later it hasn’t gotten any better. She still needs to do her job, unfortunately.

“What?” she snaps as she answers her phone.

“Um, is this Clarke Griffin? From Ark Investigations? I need your help…”

Clarke sighs. Back to real life.

Her client is the typical ‘I think my husband is cheating on me and I need you to catch him and maybe rough him up a bit!!” case and honestly, Clarke normally doesn’t care about what she does because it pays the bills for her crappy apartment and her cheap whiskey. Today is different, she feels hopeless and has this pit in her stomach. It eats at her as she’s on her stakeout and it’s slowly becoming unbearable. She definitely feels shittier than usual.

She’s eating a stupid hoagie from this stupid bodega around the corner and she’s been watching this stupid man for over an hour on a stupid fire escape. He hasn’t been doing anything suspicious for the past two hours, and Clarke is getting restless. Her leg starts bouncing uncontrollably and she’s starting to feel even more on edge. She has to do something about the kids, with or without help.

She throws her hoagie in a nearby trash can and starts walking to the police station, which conveniently is only two blocks away from where she was.

_Okay, okay, let’s get a game plan together. Walk in, pretend you saw someone stab another person and sneak into wherever they keep files. Where are files normally located in a precinct? Is a stabbing too mild? Maybe a straight up murder? Dead body? Bodies? What if Bellamy is there and sees me? Should I stop somewhere and get a disguise? What if- _

She’s brought out of her thought process by a car pulling up next to her, tires squealing. The window rolls down and reveals a frazzled looking Bellamy Blake. Clarke huffs. Great.

“I need to talk to you.”

Clarke keeps walking. No way in hell will she ever help Bellamy Blake again.

“Clarke!” She picks up the pace a little when she hears Bellamy get out of his car and heads towards her. She’s seriously concerned that if she comes face to face with him she will actually put him through a wall this time. “Come on, Clarke! Five minutes!”

She whips around. “I don’t care what you have to say!” she hisses.

She only makes it about four steps before Bellamy grabs her wrist to stop her, but her reflexes are much faster than him. She yanks her hand out of his grasp and in return yanks his arm behind his back, earning a yelp from him, and presses him against the building next to them.

“I swear to god Bellamy, I’ll put you through this wall-”

“It’s about the kids!”

She freezes. “What?”

“Those kids that have been going missing steadily, it’s about them. Three more were taken last night.”

She releases him from her hold and just stares. Bellamy rolls his shoulder that was bent, trying to straighten it out. Clarke knows she should be happy that Bellamy is finally on board with the plan, but it seems suspicious.

“Why now?” she wonders as she crosses her arms over her chest. “What makes these three extra kids so special? Because you sure as hell didn’t give a shit about the others.”

“That’s not true!” he interjects. “Of course I care, Clarke. It’s just more...urgent, now.”

Clarke’s brow furrows. “What makes this situation so urgent now?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “My sister.”

Shit. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

She looks at him, really looks at him since he found her. His hair is messier than usual, which is impressive. He has dark circles forming under his eyes and a five o’clock shadow forming. Hell, he isn’t even in his uniform, just jeans, and a white t-shirt. His whole entire face looks sunken in like he hadn't been sleeping.

He looks like absolute hell.

“If I agree to help you,” she offers. “I’m calling the shots.”

Bellamy grunts. “Clarke-”

“No, I’m serious,” she states. “If what you said is true, that a lot of cops are working this case, whatever they’re doing isn’t working. We do it my way. It’ll work.”

Bellamy scoffs. “And what, pray tell, is your way?”

She goes to answer but nothing comes out. Suddenly, she realizes she doesn’t really have a set plan besides her storming the police precinct on a whim to steal some files.

“Oh my god,” Bellamy groans. “You don’t have a plan, do you?”

“Well, not one in particular,” she defends. “But a general idea.”

“And that is?”

She gives a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ll explain later, I need to go back to my place and get the ball rolling.”

He nods. “What do you want me to do?”

“For now? Nothing big,” she says as she runs a hand through her hair. “Just meet me at my place later tonight and bring a copy of the kids’ files. We can start looking for patterns.”

She walks past him towards her apartment with a little more pep in her step. For days she’s been angry and sad and confused, just feeling completely alone. Now, she has someone on her side. Two someone’s, actually.

She sends Murphy a text to meet her at her place and informing him that she got Bellamy to help them.

As soon as she gets home she unplugs her phone so she won’t be distracted with new cases and immediately gets to researching. She’s pulling up every single newspaper article and social media post she can find about these kids. As of now, a total of twelve teenagers have gone missing.

She drops her head into her hands. From what she gathered, the only thing these kids have in common is their age range. Clarke let out a harsh breath as she closed her laptop, no personal details have been released about them, just their full name, age, and what school they attended.

Hopefully, the files Bellamy pulls has some more information. If not, they’re screwed.

She’s been hunting for information for a couple of hours before Murphy comes in, dressed in his civilian clothes.

“What?” Clarke snarks as she prints out another article about one of the victims. “No horns today?”

“Fuck off, I just woke up,” Murphy says as he flops onto her couch. “Why am I here?”

“Because,” Clarke says as she closes her laptop and grabs a bottle of Jack Daniels to pour them a drink, “our new cop friend will be here soon with some info.”

He walks over to Clarke and takes his glass, brows raised. “You actually got a cop to help us? And illegally steal confidential files?”

“Yup,” Clarke says, popping her ‘p’. “Three more went missing last night and his sister was one of them, so he’s invested.”

“Hooray,” Murphy grumbles as they clink their glasses together.

Clarke goes over the little information she concluded with him until they hear a knock on the door. Clarke looks at her phone and realizes the time is seven-thirty.

“Come in!” Murphy yells as he goes into the kitchen.

“Why are you going into my kitchen?” she questions. “Do you even have food at your place?”

“Why would I buy food when I can just come over and eat yours?”

“You son of a-” Clarke’s sentence is cut off by the door opening and revealing Bellamy Blake. Somehow, he looks more frazzled than earlier.

“Jesus, did you get hit by a bus on the way here?”

Bellamy just scoffs as he walks in and dumps a pile of manila folders on Clarke’s desk. “I brought the file for every kid, all twelve of them.”

She grabs the top folder and immediately begins reading, soaking up all the details she can muster. “This is great, Bellamy.”

He’s about to respond when Murphy makes his way into Clarke’s living room with another Capri Sun in hand and grabs a folder.

“Dammit, Murphy,” Clarke scolds. “What did I tell you about taking my shit?”

“You said nothing about drinks,” he points out and he slurps loudly from the drink.

“Who’s this guy?” Bellamy asks, jabbing his thumb at Murphy.

“I’m-”

“Not important.” Clarke finishes. “Everyone needs to grab a folder and start looking for patterns. The sooner we start looking the sooner we can find them.”

“Actually,” Bellamy starts as he looks through the pile of files. “One kid was found in a warehouse on west forty-third street a couple of hours ago. He’s in pretty bad shape, but we think he managed to escape somehow. This is all we could get from him.”

He hands Clarke a file with a red mark on it and she opens it. Murphy scoots over and reads over her shoulder.

_Jeremiah Smith, 16, from Queens. Injected with chemicals not known to our forensic team, starved, sleep-deprived, put through strenuous tests, tremendous amounts of trauma to the head... _

“Jesus Christ,” Murphy mutters under his breath as he reads along the lines.

“We need to find them.” Bellamy urges as he starts pacing across Clarke’s living room. “If that’s the normal routine these kids are going through, Octavia might already be dead, or still being tortured, or-”

“Who’s Octavia?” Murphy asks as he’s still skimming over the file.

Idiot.

Clarke cuffs him upside the head. “His sister that I literally told you about a half hour ago.”

“Seriously, who is this guy?” Bellamy demands, now sitting on the couch. He’s been fidgeting nonstop and won’t stop biting his nails. Clarke knows it may be a little much if she reveals that Bellamy isn’t working with one popular vigilante but two, but she’s honestly still bitter he’s only helping them because it involves his sister. Also, Murphy keeps stealing her shit. She’s feeling a little spiteful tonight.

Clarke sends a smirk Murphy’s way. “John Murphy, also known as Daredevil.”

“_What?_”

“What the hell, Clarke!”

She shrugs, flipping through the file. “Blake was going to find out eventually, now the surprise is out.”

“I can’t believe I’m working with two vigilantes,” Bellamy grumbles, in complete disbelief. “What if someone finds out? What if we get caught? I’m off the force and Octavia is just left to rot wherever the hell she is! I’ll never get-”

“Dude, you gotta stop.” Murphy interrupts as he gets up and grabs another folder.

“Seriously, Bellamy,” Clarke says. As she continues to read Jeremiah’s file, her mind goes a mile a minute. Something just feels off. “You won’t be caught because this is where our deal ends. You got us the files, we’ll take care of the rest.”

“Like hell you are.”

That makes her pause and drops the file. “Excuse me?”

“My baby sister is out there!” Bellamy exclaims. “I’m not going to sit on my ass and do nothing while she’s being tortured.”

Murphy shoots Clarke a look and she knows exactly what he means, one of the perks for fighting side-by-side with someone for years. Murphy thinks it’s a bad idea.

Clarke agrees.

“It’s too risky if you help us,” she reasons. “If you’re off the force we’re screwed if we need more resources that only you can get us. It’ll be easier if you just let us handle it.”

Bellamy gets up from where he was seated on the couch and storms over to Clarke and Murphy.

“I don’t care if you want me or not, I’m getting her back. With or without you guys. We can either work together as a team and save the kids or we can go our separate ways, probably not being successful, your choice.”

Murphy shoots Clarke another look, one that says _“Are you fucking kidding me?”_

She shakes her head. She’s worked with Bellamy a few times and even she knows he isn’t going to back down. _“He’s in.” _

Murphy rolls his eyes and crosses his legs and puts his hands behind his head. “Fine, you can work with us. On one condition.”

Now it’s Clarke’s turn to send Murphy a WTF look. _“Condition, what condition?”_

He sends her a wink and smiles sweetly at Bellamy. “We get compensated like Clarke would with any case.”

Bellamy’s shoulders slumped. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, you need help and we’re providing that service. Eighty an hour.”

“Eighty? I thought it said sixty on the website,”

Murphy grabs Clarke’s laptop and starts typing. Clarke knows that the website specifically states that she charges sixty dollars per hour. She smirks and shakes her head to herself.

_Serves him right._

“There,” Murphy says as he closes the laptop. “Now it says eighty.”

Bellamy scratches his beard, seeming to contemplate the deal. “Deal,” he eventually says.

“And another thing-”

“Are you shitting me?” Bellamy cries and looks to Clarke. She just shrugs, she knows better than to get in Murphy’s way when he’s negotiating.

“We get immunity for our next two crimes.”

She gives Murphy an appraised look. He’s on a roll, she honestly didn’t even think about taking Bellamy’s money.

“I can’t give that.”

Murphy slurps his juice. “Sure you can, you just look the other way.”

Bellamy stares him down. “One.”

Murphy stares back, still slurping. “Two.”

“You’re only getting one free pass from me.”

Murphy braces his elbow on the table, still staring. “Next three crimes or we’re out and your sister rots.”

This is like a trainwreck that Clarke can’t look away from.

_I wish I had some popcorn. _

Bellamy’s nostrils flare and locks his jaw. Clarke can see it ticking.

“Three, and that’s it.”

Murphy raises his juice in mock salute to him. “Deal. Now was that so hard?”

Clarke sighs to herself and goes back to work and lets the boys bicker. Knowing the both of them, they’ll be at it all night.

She rereads Jeremiah’s file one last time. There’s just a weird gut feeling she gets when she looks over what he recalled happened to him. It feels familiar in a way that she can’t quite understand why, until she does.

“Holy shit.” she gasps in disbelief.

_No, no, no… _

“What?” Murphy asks as Bellamy peers over at her.

“Murphy, you’ve read this file, right?”

He nods.

“Does any of this sound familiar? Shock torture? Being injected with chemicals? Going through countless tests?” He stares at her with a blank look on his face, searching for the answer until she gives him a look. “Holy fucking shit,” he says as his eyes grow wide.

“No way, that’s not possible. She’s in...jail, Clarke.”

“I know that, what if she has someone else continuing the work for her? Or she’s somehow acting as ringleader?”

“Uh, excuse me,” Bellamy interjects. “Care to explain to me what you think you know?”

The more Clarke thinks about it, the more it seems plausible. She went through very similar situations that Jeremiah and the others went through. She barely made it out alive too. She realizes that that’s what her gut was telling her, that there is no code to crack or pattern to find. She knows who’s behind this.

“I have a lead,” she tells Bellamy. He looks at her dumbfounded and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Already? How? Who is it?”

Clarke leans back in her chair and takes a nice, big deep breath. “Abigail Griffin, my mother.”

**Author's Note:**

> so folks how do we feel!!!!!!!!! i have half of the last chapter done so it's only a matter of time before i upload it
> 
> if u wanna scream at me or just a lil chit chat im on tumblr @buckthebarnes <3


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